


Chamomile, No Coconut

by Biromantic_Nerd



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College/Roommates Era, Disabled Character, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Foggy definitely has a crush on Matt, Gen, Is it still a college roommate AU if that actually happened, Nail Polish, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Foggy Nelson, One Shot, The Nelson Family Isn't The Greatest, but fyi Foggy is head over heels for Matt, this story stays strictly in the platonic realm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-15 20:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12328533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biromantic_Nerd/pseuds/Biromantic_Nerd
Summary: Foggy snorted again. "Matt," they said, sounding amused now. "Are you trying to comfort me without knowing what's wrong?""Sorry," Matt apologized, shrugging, even though he was definitely not sorry.





	Chamomile, No Coconut

**Author's Note:**

> Ended up writing a fic about some of the issues I don't feel comfortable verbalizing to anyone. I, obviously, am spectacular at coping.
> 
> **Warnings:** Major themes and discussions of eating disorders, anorexia/pro ana thoughts. Minor themes and discussions of transphobia, misgendering, ableism, fatphobia, and harassment from relatives.
> 
> Make sure to stay safe and skip this one if you need to. I'll be writing more lighthearted Foggy stories; so please don't read this if it can trigger you, even if you liked Foggy in my other stories.

 

The two roommates were relaxing in their dorm, several hours after their last shared afternoon class of the day. It was Friday, and their weekend was yet explored. Things seemed quiet. Quaint.

 

And then Matt had to go and offer to pay for tonight's dinner, if only Foggy would come along to help him order...?

 

Foggy laughed. "Oh man, I totally would if I wasn't so full."

 

That wasn't right; Matt could hear the whines and gurgling of their stomach. He'd been listening to it for the past two minutes, and, while it should become audible enough for Foggy to hear it within four minutes, they should have definitely been able to _feel_ it.

 

"You haven't eaten today," Matt blurted out tactlessly. Foggy's head whipped around to look at him, the air minutely whistling in Matt's ears at the sudden, sharp motion.

 

"You have not eaten today," Matt repeated, slower this time, drawing out the words as he thought of his next counterpoint. "I would have heard you, if you had. So why don't you want to go to dinner?" Matt scrunched his forehead in thought. "Did I -" He paused, unsure how to vocalize the worry.

 

Foggy caught his unfinished thought easily, hastening to reassure him. "No, no! You didn't do anything wrong, Matt!"

 

...but then there was a moment of tense silence.

 

Foggy ended it with a heavy sigh. "I -" They paused, ran a hand through their freshly washed hair, wafting the chamomile scent of shampoo into the air but not the smell of coconut conditioner; they'd skipped it. Matt's heart clenched. When Foggy skipped conditioner, it meant that they were in more pain than they were letting on.

 

They sighed again, and Matt felt guilty at being the reason for it. Especially if Foggy was already running on a low amount of "spoons."

 

"I didn't consider adding your good hearing into the equation," Foggy mused, seemingly to themself.

 

Matt shrugged. "It's a gift."

 

The understatement of that could have made Matt laugh, but now wasn't the time for it.

 

Foggy exhaled in a slow, long breath, too heavy and drawn out to be a sigh but near enough to carry its implications. "It's the holidays," they admitted quietly, as if that would explain everything.

 

Matt waited, not yet comprehending and unwilling to interrupt any possible information coming forth.

 

"I have to go and visit my relatives," Foggy said somberly.

 

And Matt... still didn't understand.

 

It must have been apparent from the emotions coming through on his face because Foggy continued.

 

"Look -" They sighed, sounding exhausted as they adjusted themself on their spring-mattress, "It's probably difficult for you to imagine, since you're all cheek bones and elbows, but - it's _hard_ to go back there when I'm fat. And I..." Foggy hesitated with a breathy stutter, "I wasn't _thin,_ but I was thinn _er,_ last year. But, um, I thought -" They gave a weak chuckle that did funny things to Matt's heart, "I thought it would make me happier to- to just stop." They said quietly, not elaborating on what, exactly, they had stopped. "And then I got there. Happier, I mean. _I got there._ But all of a sudden, it hit me that _I gained so much weight,_ and now I don't know if it was worth it."

 

And then they went quiet. Contemplative.

 

"Foggy," Matt prompted as soft as he dared. _"What_ did you stop?"

 

"Worrying," they answered but then shook their head, scattering the air with their chamomile-no-coconut aroma. "Uh."

 

"I don't think I know, precisely, what it is you're talking about," Matt said gently, "but we don't have to talk about it. Alright?"

 

Foggy clicked their tongue in some unidentifiable emotion and moved their head again, dispersing another small wave of chamomile that threatened to clog Matt's senses. "It was stupid to think that I could do it here without you noticing. I mean - I never did it here before. You'd catch on eventually. I just didn't think you'd catch on the very first week that I started."

 

Even though Matt didn't know exactly what was going on, _that_ certainly caught his attention. Not the first day, then - the first _week._ Whatever was happening here, it had been ongoing for possibly up to six days. Perhaps today was the seventh.

 

"Um." Foggy's fingers trembled against the cheap fabric of their long twin college bed, soft and unsteady.

 

Matt's hand clenched anxious fists into the material of his own bed, a scant few feet from the other in the tiny dorm room.

 

"This is so stupid," Foggy muttered. _"Augh,_ okay." They exhaled slowly. It sounded like they were chewing on their nails again, too. "Okay. Um. I used to have a- a problem. With food. I, uh, was still fat," Foggy chuckled darkly, "but I wasn't _this_ fat, you- you know? I- well, I was _skinnier._ When I did it."

 

The quiet, ongoing gurgling of Foggy's stomach helped Matt finally make the connection.

 

"You had an eating disorder." Matt realized. "Anorexia."

 

Foggy startled physically, bed creaking. "No! No. I was _way_ too fat to be anorexic. I went on the pro-ana websites, but I never got _nearly_ to that point."

 

Matt frowned. "I don't think that's how anorexia works. You either are or you aren't. It's not determined by a set weight."

 

"I wasn't though!" Foggy protested. "I just dieted, is all." They paused. "I mean... I know I had _some_ sort of- of... of eating disorder." Foggy clearly winced when they said the actual words. "I did, I know that. I know that... But..." They trailed off.

 

"I'm sorry," Matt carefully interjected. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

 

Foggy shrugged, t-shirt fabric sliding audibly against the wall they leaned back on. "I dunno. It's not like I've ever talked about this with anyone. I was probably going to get upset anyways."

 

Normally, when either Foggy or Matt was upset, the two of them would splurge on an upscale sushi place, ordering in. And if money was tight, they'd settle for the usual pizza place down the street that recognized the two's specific voices and dorm room and would throw in extra dipping sauce for free.

 

Matt's shoulders slumped. The solution didn't seem to simple anymore.

 

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" He offered.

 

Foggy seemed to think about it. "Nah."

 

_A lie._

 

"Really, Foggy," Matt tried again to assure them. "We don't have to talk about this anymore if you don't want to, and we can do anything you'd like now."

 

"Anything?" Foggy asked, the subtle undercurrents of hope in their voice loud in Matt's ears.

 

Matt nodded. "Sure, anything."

 

Foggy hesitated, but then seemed somewhat placated. "I'm gonna paint my nails then?"

 

Matt nodded again, keeping his expression smooth, knowing that Foggy was examining him and looking for the grimace they had come to expect. "Alright."

 

"You don't have to pretend; I know you hate it," they snickered, sounding ridiculously fond. They stood up from their bed, rusty springs protesting just as boisterously as always, the subtle friction between denim and polyester almost the same volume.

 

Matt smiled. "Yeah, but I like you more than I hate nail polish," he replied easily.

 

Foggy's heart froze for half a moment before they relaxed. "Is that right," they laughed out, and continued walking to where they kept their nail polish on their small bookshelf. "High praise, indeed."

 

"Well deserved praise though," Matt countered truthfully, a hair too earnestly.

 

"You sure do know how to flatter an enby, you smooth talker," Foggy muttered as they scooped up their glass jars of clinking nail polish in their hands and brought them over to the single shared desk. They set them all down in one go, and a couple of ominous sounds occurred, but nothing broke, or else Matt would be trying to suck his own nostrils into the confines of his skull already.

 

"Help me decide?" They pleaded, patting the desk with their hands in an endearing way.

 

"Yes, of course." Matt carefully made his way over and perched on the edge of Foggy's bed, where the desk was closest, and extended his hand. "What have we got?"

 

"The same as last time," Foggy quipped, but there seemed to be a smile in their voice.

 

"Remind me?" Matt asked anyway, grinning in a way that he had been told by many was charming.

 

Foggy sighed, faux-put upon, expertly placing a vial in his palm.

 

Matt curled his fingers around the square edges and tried to remember. "Is this... the beige one?"

 

"Close!" Foggy already sounded cheered up - or at least distracted. "The beige one is, ah, _this one,_ here we go." They grabbed Matt's left hand, turned it palm side up, and put it there. "They're both Wet N' Wild, same shape, you were super close."

 

"So what color was this?" Matt asked, waving his right hand while keeping a tight hold on the identical feeling polish.

 

Foggy delicately placed their fingers over Matt's, pried open the fist softly, and retrieved the polish.

 

"It is... Kiss My Mints."

 

Matt snorted, taken off guard. "What?"

 

"I swear, Matt, that's the color!" Foggy promised, sounding just as amused.

 

"You're yanking my chain," Matt insisted. He was feeling optimistic about this whole 'cheer Foggy up' scenario.

 

"Swear on my midterms!" Foggy promised, likening it to the most sacred vow they could swear. "It's called Kiss My Mints!"

 

Matt laughed, extended his hand for Foggy to take the beige polish. "Really though? Take this pending betrayal away from me, Foggy."

 

Foggy plucked it from Matt's palm. "It's a blue. It's like... Robin eggshells. But more pastel. But not like Easter blue - less pastel than that."

 

Matt raised his eyebrows, silently amused.

 

"Shut up, you're Catholic, and I'm trying to relate to you." Foggy grumbled. "Alright... It's like springtime skies when the sun hits it. Not too blue, not frosty. It's, ah, warm? Yeah. It feels warm. Like you could fly a kite in it. Or throw a Frisbee at it and watch it get stolen by somebody else's kid when it comes down."

 

Matt tilted his head, thought about the image painted, and then nodded. "Thank you. And thanks for that personal anecdote."

 

Foggy did a few things that raised the temperature of their skin, curiously.

 

"What's the beige one called?" He asked curiously. "It's a neutral shade, so it _has_ to be more reasonable than Kiss My Mints, right?"

 

"It is calllllled... 2% Milk..." Foggy answered, sounding close to laughter as well.

 

"What?" Matt gasped out his laugh, incredulous. "But it's beige?"

 

"Well," Foggy hemmed. "It's a milky sort of beige. Like, more light colored whitish 'nude' than beige."

 

"Nude?" Matt asked curiously. "Sounds ambiguous. What color classifies as 'nude'?"

 

_"Uhhhh."_ Foggy set down the ridiculously named vial. "Well, I mean, generally _uhhhh_ things that are marketed and labeled as 'nude color' are like. Huh. Let me think of how to describe this." They squeezed air through the gap in their teeth, whistling shortly. "So the idea is that 'nude' matches the naked skin tone, but obviously that doesn't work because skin tones are diverse. So whose naked skin tone is it marketed towards? _Usually?_ Light skinned people and the 'nude color' is a creamy off white that's nearly almost like slivered almond-ish. Second most common is a more of a lighter tan version, where the color is definitely classifiable as beige but they call it 'nude' anyways. And recently there have been a few, uh -"

 

Foggy waved their hand in a circle, displacing air. Being this close to them, Matt could smell their subtle lavender soap whereas it was more easily drowned out from across the room by other scents.

 

"Efforts," Foggy decided on the word. _"Efforts_ to have more skin tone ranges be included. Because, I mean, the idea of the nude really only works for an extremely limited amount of people. So calling it 'nude' or 'skin color' or 'flesh tone' when it's being marketed towards the general public is really just- _alienating_ to people who don't match that shade of nude."

 

"I understand." Matt nodded, "You called it 'nude' - I'm a bit curious now, does it match _your_ skin color? Or is it just a habit to call certain colors nude?"

 

Foggy took the time and thought about it before answering. "I mean. This specific nail polish does somewhat match my white skin, yeah, but you're probably right. I have a bad habit of calling anything in the range of off white to light tan as 'nude' because I'm so used to it being described that way. But I should try to break that habit. This nail polish - 2% Milk - " Foggy rephrased, "It's a cream color that's slightly infused with a light beige."

 

"More white than beige?" Matt asked, considering re-estimating his mental picture of it.

 

"Definitely."

 

"Thank you." Matt inclined his head. "...Next one?"

 

Foggy placed the next glass bottle into Matt's upraised palm with care.

 

"It's pretty short," Matt mused out loud, wrapping his fingers around the cubic shape. "Oh - this is your expensive one," he realized, recognizing the shape in his grasp. "The... red? Pink? I think it was pink."

 

_"Ding ding ding!"_ Foggy congratulated. "This _is_ my expensive nail polish: Essie. It's a light pink color. Almost like cotton candy - but softer. More ballerina than cotton candy. It's not bright pink. It's light. Like kitten nose pink! Soft but pigmented." Foggy paused, turning the bottle over while it was still in Matt's palm, tickling his skin. "Its name... is..."

 

"I want to guess, if that's alright."

 

Foggy chuckled, sounding delighted. "It would make my day," they said genuinely.

 

It was something that Matt was counting on.

 

"Charm Bracelet," he guessed finally. "Um. Satin Ribbon. Dainty Kitten Paws. Sugar Cube. Tea Party. Unicorn Love." He stopped listing off names, stumped.

 

"Final guesses?" Foggy called.

 

Matt nodded. "Final guesses."

 

"Well!" Foggy sounded impressed. "You were on the right track... sort of. Kind of. In the realm of _ish._ The name of the pink polish - drum roll, _dun dun duh_ \- is Sugar Daddy!"

 

Matt's jaw dropped for all of two seconds before he reigned it in. "You're making that up this time," he accused.

 

Foggy snickered. "I assure you, I am not."

 

"I want to guess again," Matt declared before Foggy even had a chance to hand him another color.

 

"Okay," Foggy agreed easily, voice mischievous. "Here you are. Guess _this_ one." They placed the next polish into Matt's hand.

 

The edges were smoother in Matt's grasp than the previous ones, curved.

 

"It's teal. A dark teal," Foggy described. "Not like the ocean is teal. It's more... Artificial. Like blue raspberry flavored candy, maybe, but that's not quite it. It's more dusky than that. It's hard to think of anything that's actually this color. It is _very_ teal. Not turquoise - _teal._ It's in the same family as turquoise, in a way, but much darker and much more... like a paint color to be honest."

 

Matt nodded slowly, his mouth pursed as he thought over the difficult description.

 

"Roller Rink," he guessed uncertainly. "Lagoon Monster. Drowning In The Lake -"

 

_"'Drowning In The Lake'?"_ Foggy wheezed. "Matt, are you serious?"

 

"Too depressing for a nail polish name?" He wondered. "Okay, fine then. Uh, change it to Kissing On The Ferris Wheel."

 

"Oh my gosh," Foggy exclaimed with glee. "You should name nail polishes. How do we get you into that business? You need to do it; it's your _true calling."_

 

Matt's face began to warm in what was definitely not a blush. "They were just guesses!" He defended himself.

 

"I'm serious. Matthew - I will never forgive myself if I don't help you achieve your dream."

 

"It's not my dream, Foggy, shut _up!"_ Matt laughed. "Come on, now you've gotta tell me the actual name."

 

_"Nuh-uh,"_ Foggy shook their head, sending the smell chamomile in Matt's direction. "I'll buy a label maker. This will always be Drowning In The Lake to me. And you know what? I'm changing, uh," Foggy grabbed the last nail polish left and inspected it, "Vintage Rose to Kissing On The Ferris Wheel."

 

"Foggyyy." Matt was not above whining.

 

"Nope," Foggy said. "It's done. I'm buying a label maker tomorrow and that's that. Your names are clearly superior and -"

 

"What's the name, Foggy? Now I need to know."

 

Foggy sighed dramatically.

 

Matt sighed just as dramatically back.

 

"Listen... Shower Together is clearly nowhere near as good as Drowning In The Lake," Foggy assured.

 

_"Shower Together?"_ Matt gaped.

 

"Oh my gosh, your _face!_ " Foggy cackled. "It was worth the build up."

 

"It's _nail polish!"_ Matt protested. _"Children buy it!"_

 

"And I can promise you, Matt, that children would definitely prefer Drowning In The Lake. It's just a fact, and it's why you need to take this industry by storm."

 

"Ugh," Matt groaned. "No way. I can't ever be in the same industry as _Shower Together_ and- what was the last one?"

 

"Vintage Rose."

 

"Oh." Matt conceded. "That's actually quite pretty."

 

"And it looks exactly like you would expect," Foggy said. "It's either a really red pink or a really light red. Either way, it looks dusty and vintage-y, as opposed to a more vibrant red. Almost like a really faded terra cotta - but not orange, more clay colored - mixed with a dusky rose color."

 

Matt nodded. "It does sound nice."

 

"Yeah," Foggy agreed. "It is."

 

"Is that the color you want to go with?" Matt asked.

 

Foggy shrugged, the sound transferring as skin rubbing against fabric, muscles clenching and relaxing. "Yeah, I mean. I don't know. I like them all. But it does looks nice. I think I'm in the mood for it. It's..." Hesitation.

 

"What?" Matt prompted.

 

"It's kind of glamorous," they continued shyly, "in that old fashioned, Hollywood sort of way that people get nostalgic about even though they weren't alive to see it."

 

"Yeah?" Matt smiled. "That sounds like a good thing then, if it makes you feel like that."

 

There was a pause. "I have a lipstick. It's called A Touch Of Spice. And it matches nearly identically to the shade of this nail polish and- and I think I want to do my makeup before I paint my nails."

 

"So you don't have to wait for them to dry." Matt nodded. "Makes sense."

 

Foggy began to gather the other nail polishes into their hands, the clinking and clanking sounds repeated. "Thanks for -" Their voice gentled. "Thanks, Matt."

 

"Anytime, Foggy," Matt promised, hoping they would be able to hear the sincerity and know that he meant it. "Anytime."

 

Foggy stood to put the rejected colors away. Matt stayed on the end of Foggy's bed, contemplative of how to move forward from here, how best to help his friend.

 

"Matt?" They quietly asked from somewhere next to the bookshelf.

 

Matt stood up immediately. "Foggy?" He questioned, conscious of the way Foggy still hadn't turned around and was facing the wall, breath and voice bouncing off the solid surface in a strange way.

 

"I didn't eat," Foggy admitted, voice vulnerable. "And I- I had a problem with eating. And I know that it was bad. And it took a long time, but I stopped- doing what I used to do. And it took me a long time to stop hating myself for stopping."

 

Matt took a step forward, the urge to reach out to Foggy intensifying at the wet sound in their voice and the sudden wave of salt in the air that had yet to disperse. _Tears._ But he didn't want to interrupt them - Foggy's healing, even, maybe - and held himself still after that first step.

 

"I've started hating myself again," Foggy whispered, like it would soften the harsh impact of the truth. "And I don't know how to stop, except to start over again. To go back to- what I used to do." Foggy paused once more. The sound of teeth worrying lips. "And I _know_ that it was bad but I just want to _feel better."_

 

Matt finished the small distance between the two and took Foggy in his arms, surrounding himself in their odor of chamomile, lavender soap, 'unscented' deodorant, and the college common cheap detergent of their clothes.

 

Foggy let out a wet hiccup as they sobbed in surprise at Matt's sudden action.

 

"Hey," Matt murmured as Foggy obviously tried to contain themself and not cry. "Hey, come on, now. You're going to be okay, Foggy. You and me? We'll get you through this." Foggy turned in Matt's grip, throwing their arms around his waist in return, tucking their forehead against his neck. Their running eyes and trailing nose pooled into his shirt. He rubbed Foggy's back in soothing circles. "You're not alone," Matt promised. "We'll get you through this."

 

"I'm s-so stupid," Foggy muttered against Matt's shoulder. "I don't know why I'm like this, I'm sorry."

 

"No, no," Matt hushed them. "You're not stupid."

 

Foggy buried their head further into the Matt's skin, warm and wet.

 

"Come on." Matt began to guide them towards Foggy's bed. "Let's sit down, alright?"

 

"I thought I was up to getting all glammed up, but I just feel really gross," Foggy admitted, shame creeping into their voice as they sat alongside him, keeping their arms wrapped around him as they did so. It made for some awkward maneuvering, but they managed.

 

"Maybe another time, then," Matt bargained.

 

Foggy laughed, the sound wet and sad. "What if I feel this way forever?" They blurted, worried. "What if this just keeps coming back to me, no matter how hard I try?"

 

"You won't. It won't," he promised. He inhaled slowly (chamomile and lavender soap and salt and fresh linen,) "And even if you did, we'd work through it."

 

"You keep saying 'we,'" Foggy pointed out, wiping their nose with their shirt sleeve, the fabric catching wetly against their running nose in Matt's ears. "You don't have any obligation towards me, you know. You deserve way better than to have to deal with this. I mean, I'm pretty sure you came to college for the classes, not your pathetic roommate."

 

"Nah," Matt wrinkled his nose. "I came to party."

 

Foggy burst into immediate laughter despite themself.

 

Both of them were fully aware that Matt had yet to go to a single party, and he had turned down so many of Foggy's invitations to go to parties that it had become a running gag between them. Furthermore, it was also developed as an inside joke for Matt to respond with, "Sounds like it's gonna be a party," to decline any other, non-party related outing invitations that Foggy offered that Matt didn't want to attend, which gave way to also including the joke to be used for things that, in general, Matt didn't enjoy.

 

"Matthew Murdock," Foggy said, shaking their head, rustling their chamomile hair and brushing their nose against Matt's skin in somewhat tickling motions, but Foggy sounded a lot less full of phlegm-y sobs about to erupt. "You're going to be the death of me."

 

Matt smiled. "Sounds like a party."

 

Foggy's answering grin pressed against Matt's collar as they tucked their head further into his shoulder in visceral pleased delight.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"I made protein bars," Matt announced the following morning, standing in their unofficial 'kitchen area' that was basically just some cabinets, a sink, a mini-fridge, and a counter. In front of him were some slightly sloppy bars of vague, lumpy shapes.

 

Fighting ne'er do wells all night long can do a certain thing to one's body, and require a lot of protein to make up for it. He could only hope his face wasn't terrifically beaten or bloody. It'd be awkward to explain.

 

Foggy seemed to immediately blanch at the thought, the evidence obvious in their half wobbling voice and their heart's sudden, stressed uptick. "Matt..."

 

"They're healthy," Matt continued casually. "Made with carrots, pumpkin, spices, chopped almonds, oats, flax seed, a sprinkle of granola, and the kitchen sink."

 

Foggy still hesitated, barely acknowledging the admittedly tacked-on joke. "Did you add anything to sweeten them?" It clearly would be considered as a negative.

 

Matt shrugged smoothly, like hearing the question didn't affect him the way it did. "A few dates. A tiny bit of honey. But the carrots are pretty sweet by themselves, so they didn't need too much sweetening."

 

Foggy nodded hesitantly, the combination of coconut and chamomile softly wafting with the motion. "That sounds... alright," Foggy admitted, still sounding a tad bit worried.

 

Matt smiled at them soothingly.

 

The relief flooded in his chest, swift and strong, when Foggy began to eat one.

 

"The best part about this," they said in between bites, "is the kitchen sink. Lovely bouquet, nice hint of mold and years of student loans. Top notch."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Foggy declined lunch.

 

"I...don't- I can't- " Foggy breathed in slowly, let out that breath even slower. "I just can't convince myself that a- a glorified cookie was healthy. Sorry." Foggy sounded beyond guilty. "I know you're trying really hard, Matt, I do. I'm sorry."

 

Matt set down the tomato he had been slicing. "You don't want any salad? None?"

 

Foggy shook his head. "No thanks. I just -" Foggy paused. "No thanks, Matt," they ended it with, instead of finishing what they were going to say before they had changed their mind.

 

Matt absently twirled the knife in his hand before deciding to make the salad anyways.

 

"There's no pressure," Matt told them as he dumped the salad in a plastic bag and zipped it closed. "If you don't eat it, I'll just eat it tomorrow. But if you do eat it, then I won't. Either way is fine."

 

Foggy didn't eat it.

 

Matt pretended that he didn't know how Foggy alternated between guiltily staring at Matt and the fridge.

 

And both he and Foggy pretended they didn't hear Foggy's stomach growl softly as the day wore on.

 

They both continued to pretend for the next few days.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Matt," Foggy began cautiously. "Why do we have two bags of celery in the fridge?"

 

Matt paused his hand in his task of reading his textbook at the desk, contemplating how he wanted to go about explaining this. "I've been reading up on what foods would be easier for you to feel okay with," he explained simply, deciding on being forthcoming. "I bought celery so that you'd have an ample amount of a safe food until we talked about what you do and don't feel comfortable eating." At Foggy's quiet, sharp breath, Matt quickly rushed to continue. "And if you don't feel comfortable talking about that, we never have to have that conversation. But I think we should, so that I know how to stay within your... your intake levels."

 

"You've been doing research?" Foggy asked, voice trembling. "You've been on- on websites, reading about it? Is that why you've got your headphones in every time I get back from Sociology?"

 

Matt's eyebrows scrunched up, confused about the air of distress radiating off of Foggy. He wasn't hiding the sites he went to on purpose - to him it was common courtesy to wear headphones when his voice-reading program was active. "What's wrong?"

 

"'What's _wrong!?'"_ Foggy parroted back incredulously. "Matt -" They let out an imitation of a laugh, "I didn't want you to _ever_ go on those types of websites. To- to see how fucked up I am. Matt, I _know_ that me doing this is not okay. I know that." Foggy raggedly took a breath. "I didn't want you to- I don't know! Pretend like this isn't stupid! It _is_ stupid, I _know_ it's stupid. I know _I'm_ stupid. I just didn't want _you_ to know."

 

Matt's heart ached. He knew he didn't understand, but he thought he understood enough. "Foggy... I'm sorry."

 

Foggy shook their head quickly, hair going wild, chamomile-coconut trails everywhere.

 

"It's not you," they protested. "You didn't- _ugh._ It's just- I'm embarrassed. I didn't want you to know, and I'm _embarrassed,_ Matt. I don't want you to worry about my calorie intake. I don't want you to even know the phrase 'safe food.' You shouldn't- I don't want you to start trying to understand my issues with food because, yeah, I'm embarrassed - but I also don't want you to start calling celery a 'safe food' instead of a vegetable or- or _celery,_ for Pete's sake. I don't want to do that to you!"

 

Matt nodded slowly. "If you don't want me to, then I won't look into it any further. I just want to be able to help you. I want you to be safe."

 

Foggy sighed. "I know. And, Matt, you're seriously the sweetest, okay? I love you. But this isn't something I want you to worry about."

 

"How can I not worry?" Matt protested, feeling a bit heated as his hands clench around the sides of the desk. "You don't eat! I'm... trying to make sure you stay safe, Foggy."

 

"It's not your job to keep me safe!" Foggy pointed out, standing up, the bed creaking as they did so. "You don't have to worry about it!"

 

"I _am_ going to worry about it!" Matt argued. "And I'm trying to respect your decisions and your privacy and your bodily autonomy, but I'm still going to worry! Why can't you understand that?"

 

"Matt," Foggy said, sounding tired. "I didn't mean to start an argument."

 

"Just tell me this, Foggy. Tell me this, and I'll leave it. I already know some terminology. I already know you haven't had anything besides lemon water in two days. Is there anything else that would keep you from accepting my help? Because if not, then I can't unlearn about calorie intakes and safe foods, okay? But I _can_ start working together with you to help utilize that knowledge and keep you safe while you do this."

 

"You fucking bastard," Foggy whispered softly, sounding like they were close to tears.

 

Matt braced himself.

 

Foggy cleared their throat. "Yeah." They said quietly. "Okay."

 

It didn't compute. "What?"

 

Foggy let out a snort. "I said _yes,_ Matt, okay? I said yes... you stupidly wonderful assjerk."

 

Matt grinned, the overwhelming relief sudden and astounding. "You and me, Foggy," he promised.

 

"The dream team," Foggy said in what was sure to be a teasing agreement, but they sounded too much like they meant it.

 

"The dream team," Matt agreed reverently.

 

Foggy's smile was clear in their voice as they muttered to themself, "You utter sap." Then they added, "I still can't believe you got two bags of celery, though. Honestly, what kind of Friday night YA cliche do you take me for?"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As Matt was walking through the dorm door, Foggy called out a, "Hey, Matt?"

 

"Yes?"

 

Foggy seemed to deliberate for a moment before speaking. "There are sliced carrots and celery on the counter, if you want some. I chopped way too many."

 

"Oh." Matt set down his satchel by his bedside, resting his cane noiselessly against the curve of the metal frame. "Thanks."

 

"Mm," Foggy replied. "It's on the left counter, like, uh, maybe one foot away from the sink."

 

"Thanks, Foggy," Matt said, easily navigating himself in the familiar room. "Do you want me to save you some?"

 

"Nah," Foggy answered immediately, easily, heartbeat steady. "I already ate."

 

_The truth._

 

"Good," Matt said casually, and lifted a carrot to his mouth, even though he was extremely proud and just wanted to tell Foggy how he was _so, so proud._ "That's good."

 

"Mmm," Foggy agreed. "Yup."

 

Matt paused, carrot midair. "Is everything okay, Foggy? You seem... tense."

 

Foggy chuckled. "I feel like I can't get anything past you anymore."

 

Matt shrugged. Took a bite out of the carrot. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

 

"I got invited to the Nelson Thanksgiving," Foggy explained. "Like I knew I would. And I just really don't want to go, but I have to."

 

"Ah," Matt voiced carefully, unsure of how to dole out advice on a family event given his orphan status.

 

"Matt..." Foggy blew out a small gust of nervous air. "What would you say if I asked you to go with me? Hypothetically. But literally, at the same time. But hypothetically."

 

"Eh." Matt shrugged. "I'd say...'Sounds like a party.'"

 

The remainder of Foggy's breath whooshed out of their lungs.

 

"But," Matt amended quickly, catching an unsliced carrot before it rolled off the counter completely. "Obviously I'll go anyways."

 

"Oh thank fuck," Foggy breathed, sounding more relieved than they should had to have. Matt felt bad at his ill-timed used of their ongoing party joke when Foggy was apparently already stressed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

""Whoa." Matt halted in the doorway, blinking. Tried not to breathe too deeply. "Did you light a candle? Actually, did you light about six or seven candles?"

 

Foggy let out a vague groan.

 

Matt stepped into sweet smelling room, closing the door behind him.

 

"I binged," Foggy moaned, the noise half muffled into their pillow. "I am the worst. I _binged."_

 

"Without me?" Matt said, surprised. Foggy loved describing characters on TV in gleeful and ungenerous ways to completely change the most serious of genres into comedic tones.

 

"What?" Foggy asked, confused, and they must have finally lifted their head from their pillow. "Oh. No. Not that kind of binge."

 

"Oh." Matt realized belatedly, feeling foolish. If he had taken a few more seconds before he had spoken, he could have identified the chocolate smell as the brownies Foggy used to make and not their chocolate-scented candle. Could have realized what they meant.

 

Foggy moaned despairingly again.

 

Matt hesitated, unsure of what to do. Of what was too much action and what was too little.

 

"Can I do anything for you?" He finally asked outright.

 

"Not unless you have any laxatives," Foggy muttered.

 

Matt tilted his head, considered if he was supposed to have heard that or not. "Do you want me to run to the drugstore?"

 

"What?" They yelped. "No, no, Matt, it's fine. I was joking. Sort of. Kind of? Anyways, the answer's still no."

 

Matt nodded. "Okay."

 

"Matt?" Foggy asked, suddenly. "You know what you _can_ do?"

 

"What?" Matt was surprised.

 

"Watch Gravity Falls with me?"

 

"Oh my gosh," Matt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

"Matt, come on, you haven't even got to the second season!"

 

It was a reoccurring argument between the two of them. Foggy wanted Matt to experience it, but he was decidedly against that idea.

 

"Everyone's voice is like nails on a chalkboard, Foggy!" Matt said for the umpteenth time.

 

"But I think we're on the Mermando episode!" Foggy pleaded. "Everybody loves Mermando! Do it for Mermando!"

 

" _Foggy._ "

 

"You're a wet blanket, Murdock." Foggy _tsk_ ed. "How do you sleep at night - being a wet blanket and all?"

 

"Oh for- just put it on!" Matt gave in.

 

"Yeah!" Foggy celebrated. "Peer pressure!"

 

"Mermando better be worth it," Matt grumbled, making his way to the small sofa (Foggy insisted on calling it a love-seat) they'd squeezed into their dorm.

 

"Everyone loves Mermando," Foggy said again, completely earnest. "Just lie back, get comfy, and do it for Mermando!"

 

And Matt didn't know if he'd do it for Mermando, but if this is what Foggy needed, then he'd do it for _Foggy._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Hey, um, Matt?" Foggy blurted out quickly, and then they hesitated. "I'm not- I, um... Have something to tell you."

 

Matt was caught mid-motion of pulling his sweater over his head. Foggy's heart rate ticked high in anxiety. He forced himself to tug the sweater the rest of the way down, and waited patiently for Foggy to be ready to speak.

 

"My family thinks I'm cis," Foggy said in one quick rush of breath, like it took all of their courage to tell Matt that.

 

"Oh," Matt breathed. Sadness swept over him. The stinging smell of yesterday's nail polish remover that lingered in the dorm suddenly seemed painted in a new light.

 

"Matt?" Foggy worried.

 

"What do you want me to -" Matt cut himself off, mouth fumbling with the idea. "So do you want me to correct them or do you want me to misgender you?"

 

Foggy sighed deeply. "Shit, this is- yeah. I want you to- I don't _want_ you to, it sucks, okay? It really, really sucks, but - if you have to, please, just for today..." Foggy let out another breath. "Use he/him."

 

Matt swallowed. Nodded. "Alright."

 

"Alright," Foggy agreed weakly. "Let's get going then. Before the Uber driver ditches us."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You ready?" Foggy asked. They must have tried to pat down their hair again because the scent of 'scentless' products wafted up once more.

 

And it made Matt furious. Foggy loved the smell of chamomile-coconut-lavender, but today they had sheepishly asked to use Matt's toiletries. 'Just in case' Foggy had laughed, like the idea of their relatives finding fault with the scent of personal hygiene products wasn't anger inducing. And Matt _hadn't realized_ anything was amiss until Foggy had explained later that they were closeted. Hadn't thought anything of Foggy using his things until it suddenly dawned on him like a hammer crashing down on an anvil.

 

"Ready when you are," Matt murmured. His roommate nodded, hair bouncing against their neck in a soft, barely there wisp sound, the plain and minute scent barely drifting into the air.

 

"You'll have to step up and over to get in," Foggy warned. "Oh! And for the love of Pete, I'm begging you, please don't try to explain to anyone why Thanksgiving is a terrible holiday to celebrate. You know it, I know it; everyone that's rational knows it. My family are never going to see it that way, so please. Don't."

 

Matt mimed zipping his lips. "Roger."

 

And Foggy opened the door.

 

Immediately upon entering the house, Matt was overwhelmed by the rampage of smells and sounds. He blinked and clutched his cane as he tried to orientate himself and get accustomed to the new environment.

 

"Foggy!" Someone beckoned as they were spotted at the door. "You're late! Everything's already set up, and we could have used you fifteen minutes ago when Josh and Marge were making the- Oh! Who's your friend?"

 

"Matt, this is Veronica. She's a family friend," Foggy introduced. "Veronica, this is my roommate, Matthew Murdock."

 

"Your _roommate!"_ Veronica laughed. "That's right; you're a college boy! I can't believe you didn't want to work at Georgie's shop!"

 

"Butcher story," Foggy explained lowly to Matt. They must not have been outwardly reacting to already being misgendered, going by the lack of hellfire reigning down upon them.

 

Matt hummed. "The one where your family doesn't want you to be a lawyer, right?"

 

That seemed to embarrass Veronica, who began to perspire in time with a heightened heartbeat. "Oh, no, we're all very proud of him!" She assured Matt quickly.

 

"We'd all be _more_ proud if he was a butcher instead of racking up debt to become a lawyer of all things," A new voice added. "But that's apparently none of my business, now is it?"

 

"Matt, this is Cousin Frank. Cousin Frank, Matt."

 

Cousin Frank grunted and walked off.

 

Veronica tittered. "I'm going to go tell folks you're here," she announced amongst the din, like it wouldn't become apparent that Foggy was there by Foggy just _being there._

 

"Into the breach?" Foggy offered to Matt, tone half conspiring, half apprehensive.

 

"Sounds like a party," Matt dryly said.

 

Foggy let out a burst of laughter. "Yeah," they agreed, chuckling in comradery. "It sure does."

 

And then they were patting his shoulder and beginning to lead him deeper into the house, hand still attached.

 

"This is my Great Aunt Marge," said Foggy.

 

The woman somewhere to Matt's immediate left scoffed. "Oh, you know you can just call me Aunt Marge."

 

"Aunt Marge, Matt. Matt, Great Aunt Marge," Foggy introduced cheekily.

 

"Oh, you!" She laughed. "How have you been doing, Foggy?" Great Aunt Marge asked.

 

"Good, good," Foggy answered. "College has been loads of hard work, but it's been fun. What about you?"

 

Great Aunt Marge made a sound similar to that of a wailing cat, and Matt winced. "Oh, _Foggy,_ you're finally doing okay? I'm so glad!"

 

_"Oh,"_ Foggy gasped, understanding something Matt was clearly missing. "No, Aunt Marge, I'm not -" Foggy cleared their throat. "I'm still the same."

 

"Oh," Aunt Marge's said, deflated. "Oh, dear. That's terrible."

 

"Mmm," Foggy hummed noncommittally, rocking on their toes a bit.

 

"So sad," Aunt Marge continued mournfully. "Are you _sure_ that you tried drinking turmeric milk in the morning? It really didn't cure you?"

 

"I drank it for four months," Foggy promised earnestly. "Every morning."

 

"Oh," she went on, disappointed again but quickly bolstered her composure. "Maybe it just takes longer to work!"

 

"Mmm," Foggy said monotonously. "Maybe."

 

"You're such a sweet boy." Aunt Marge spoke as if it were a tragedy. "Don't worry. You'll get better soon. I just know it."

 

"Thanks," Foggy croaked, distressed.

 

"Foggy," Matt abruptly piped up with, clearly startling both conversationalists into drawing a breath; they had forgotten him. "Would you help me with the food?"

 

Foggy quickly scrambled to get closer to Matt's side again. "Yeah, of course! Bye, Aunt Marge, see you later."

 

"Ta!"

 

"Sorry, Matt," they apologized in a quick rush, bustling him in the general direction of the smell of cooking. "I should have started by getting you food instead introductions, and -"

 

Matt's hand sought out Foggy's arm clumsily. "Hey," he said softly, cutting them off as his fingers found purchase in the sleeve of their shirt. "Are you okay?"

 

Foggy snorted. "I swear, Murdock, you're like a sadness bloodhound or something." They let out a breath. Something that might be a child, might actually be a dog goes running past. "Lots of my family do that. I just- forgot to brace myself for it."

 

"It was weird," Matt offered in fellowship.

 

Foggy snorted again. "Matt," they said, sounding amused now. "Are you trying to comfort me without knowing what's wrong?"

 

"Sorry," Matt apologized, shrugging, even though he was definitely not sorry.

 

"You're the best." The two began walking again, Foggy carefully keeping a grip on Matt's arm in a show of guiding him despite his cane. "I'll let you know when the step down comes. We're going through the back door; food's in the backyard." Matt made a soft noise to show understanding. "Great Aunt Marge and the rest of my family all believe that if I try hard enough, I'll cure myself."

 

"Cure yourself?" Matt's eyebrows furrowed.

 

"The chronic pain. The arthritis. The fatigue," Foggy explained. "They don't understand that it's a disability. That it lasts forever."

 

"Oh." Matt's response seemed inadequate even to his own ears.

 

Foggy snorted. "Ah, back door. Step down in three, two, one. Yeah, 'Oh.' So they tell me all these things that are supposedly magical cures, but even when I do them, it's not good enough for my family. They think that I must not be doing it right or trying hard enough. Instead of realizing that _nothing works._ "

 

Matt shook his head. "That's terrible."

 

"There's a giant pile of rocks in about two meters, and that's where we're headed. The food is set up on a really long table," Foggy explained, then sighed. "I mean. It is what it is. I just hate having to deal with it every holiday."

 

"I hate that you had to deal with it growing up." Matt took a moment of silence to think. "Have you ever considered not going?"

 

Foggy laughed bitterly and stopped walking, halting him in the process. "Matt, until I have an apartment, _that is not an option._ To be honest, I'm just thankful that my parents are gone out of state this year visiting _their_ parents, which means that you don't have to meet them."

 

Matt had never considered where Foggy had lived in the years before they'd met until that moment. Perhaps he had forgotten what other people did when they weren't blinded, orphaned, and secretly vigilantes of the night that dressed in the Devil's imagery.

 

...

 

New thought topic.

 

"You should move in with me," he blurted out. Despite his hastiness, he meant every word.

 

_"What?"_ Foggy asked, breathless. "Matt -"

 

"Foggy!" Someone called, their voice mixed in with the cacophony of other humans mingling. "If you don't hurry up, all the antipasto will be gone!"

 

Foggy groaned. "Okay!" They yelled back and then muttered to themself, with much feeling, _"Ugh."_

 

"You hate antipasto," Matt picked up on nonchalantly.

 

"Yeah, well," Foggy grumbled, sounding embarrassed. "When I was younger, I thought it was just really colorful mac 'n' cheese, and I took too much. Everybody made a big deal out of it, so I had to pretend to eat it, but I really just fed it to Susan's first ex-husband's dog."

 

"Anyways... come on," Foggy muttered, pulling softly at Matt's arm, "before they try to make you eat any of the casseroles."

 

Innocently, Matt responded, "I like casseroles."

 

"Not these ones, you won't," they promised darkly.

 

_That bodes well._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Every relative that Matt and Foggy encountered was a mixture of the same conversations, repeated over and over again.

 

Hello, hello. Matt, asswipe relative. Asswipe relative, college roommate Matt. Mm hmm. Yes, Foggy was still trying to become a lawyer and not a butcher. Yes, Foggy was still disabled. Yes, Foggy did try that obscure method and, no, they still weren't healed by it. Yes, they did try yoga.

 

Yes, even _that_ kind of yoga.

 

It was dizzying.

 

And unending. Another relative would take the other's place as the one left, and Matt and Foggy never actually made it to where the appetizers and the desserts were all spread out. And in the end, Matt ended up just eating a piece of pineapple cake that one of the aunts shoved at him - as well as the piece that she shoved at Foggy, who frantically whispered to Matt that they did not want to waste their calorie and sugar intake on a shitty piece of cake. (And Foggy was right; it was terrible. Matt ate both slices anyways.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

"Oh, Foggy, look at you! You look so nice!" Aunt Jacklyn gushed, but then suddenly lost the sugary tone. _"Michael!_ What did I say about running down the hall!" Her body displaced a massive amount of air as she presumably began to chase after the speeding child.

 

"Shit," Foggy muttered, sounding horrified, their heartbeat jack-hammering.

 

Matt minutely angled his body towards them. "Foggy?"

 

"And we're walking." Foggy set a firm guiding hand on Matt's elbow as they frog-marched them both over to the living room. "C'mere," they whispered as soon as they were in the clear from Aunt Jacklyn, tugging at Matt's shoulder. Matt obediently leaned down.

 

"They noticed," Foggy immediately hissed in Matt's ear, warm breath angry and harsh with each syllable. "Everyone's gonna talk about it, fuck, _fuck._ Shit, I should just leave. Fake an allergy. Better yet, _you_ should fake an allergy. Or a migraine."

 

"Foggy, slow down," Matt tried to console. "I don't see what the issue is."

 

Foggy's hand, still resting on Matt's shoulder, grabbed on to the material of his sweater in a tight, uncomfortable fist.

 

"Didn't you just hear what my aunt said to me?"

 

Uncomprehendingly, "She said you looked nice?"

 

_"For the second time._ Do you know what that means?" Foggy asked and continued on without waiting for Matt to answer. "That means she thinks I look terrible. Oh, shit, that's why she made a big hullabaloo about me not taking the piece of cake. Matt, Matt, this is terrible. She's going to move on to the more direct, more snide comments about my weight when she comes back. That's what she always does. I'm an idiot. That's why her and Tommy kept telling us about the open enrollment gym memberships near their house. Fuck. It's only just beginning."

 

Matt gently placed his hand on Foggy's elbow and then wrapped on to it. "Why don't we go get some air?" He suggested.

 

Foggy's arm jolted minutely in fight or flight adrenaline under Matt's touch before they sighed, their entire body slumped. "Okay, yeah," they agreed, winding their arm more securely around Matt's.

 

Heels clacked against the wooden floor as someone turned into what sounded like the hallway.

 

Matt ushered Foggy quickly to the door, barely touching his cane to the floor in his haste. Foggy instead steered him to the left. "This way," Foggy corrected. "We're about to approach a wall that is not a door, and that'd be -"

 

"Foggy!" Aunt Jacklyn yelled from where she had emerged into the room. "Where are you going?" She sounded appalled. "Don't tell me that you're leaving without saying goodbye!"

 

The dramatic wail was going to cause a commotion, Matt knew. He had a suspicion that Aunt Jacklyn knew as well. Chairs scraped the kitchen floor as people hastily stood up.

 

"Foggy! Are you leaving?" Cousin Frank shouted.

 

"Before _dinner?"_ Great Aunt Marge chimed in, sounding like a journalist on the cusp of a juicy story.

 

Foggy winced, the ricochet traveling by the junction of where Matt and Foggy were connected.

 

"You didn't even try my cake!" Aunt Jacklyn whined.

 

"I -" Foggy begun to say, but stopped, unsure.

 

The horde of approaching Nelsons drew closer.

 

"I don't feel well," Matt announced, just as the first Nelson burst into the room. "Foggy was just taking me home."

 

From somewhere in the throng, Matt heard one of the Nelsons let out a quiet, "Oh dear."

 

"I think it must have been something I ate," Matt continued. He pretended to think about it, then shook his head. "That can't be right. The only think I've had so far was... the um..."

 

Aunt Jacklyn gasped mutely in embarrassed realization. She and several others began to perspire, though others perhaps so for different reasons.

 

"The pineapple cake," he finished, grimacing.

 

"Oh no!" Veronica bemoaned and then slyly added in a hopeful voice, seizing the opportunity Matt had presented, "Maybe Jacklyn made it wrong."

 

"I did not!" Aunt Jacklyn protested indignantly.

 

"Maybe the pineapple was rotten!" Uncle Georgie gleefully added in his opinion.

 

"Well no one else has gotten sick, have they?" Aunt Jacklyn pointed out desperately. "Maybe it's just a flu!"

 

"Has anyone else even eaten it?" Veronica asked pointedly.

 

There was a murmur from the room as everyone confirmed what Matt had suspected; with the wide range of all the other appetizers and desserts on the table, no one had yet gone for the oddly textured and unappealingly overcooked pineapple cake.

 

Matt let out a wonderfully pitiful groan and clutched on tighter to Foggy, solidifying his Oscar worthy performance.

 

"I'm just gonna get him out of here," Foggy said, and jerked the door open. "Goodbye everyone!"

 

There was a scattered chorus of goodbyes as Foggy and Matt left (escaped) through the door.

 

"Keep walking, they'll be watching through the blinds," Foggy advised tightly, directing Matt down the sidewalk. "Path is clear down until the corner, about... Forty yards away. There's a bench in front of this boutique type place. And then we can call an Uber or a cab while we sit."

 

Matt nodded.

 

Foggy was quiet after that, and Matt, used to their chatter, found this to be unsettling.

 

"Um," he began, uncertain, "Sorry for that."

 

Foggy snorted. "No you are _not."_

 

"No. I'm not." Matt was shameless.

 

They let out a slow breath. "I can't believe it," they said finally, slowly, in awe, "You _murdered_ Aunt Jacklyn."

 

_"Foggy."_ Less shameless now.

 

"Straight up social evisceration," Foggy continued. "I'm talking 'she can't come to the phone right now because she's dead' murder - no body left behind kind of destruction. RIP Aunt Jacklyn."

 

"It wasn't that harsh," Matt said, bumping his shoulder into Foggy's on a quick misstep as he laughed. "Was it?"

 

"Matt, you glorious bastard, I'm taking you with me to every holiday."

 

Matt laughed again, grinning.

 

"I'm serious!" Foggy insisted. "'Hello, Uncle Maurice, Aunt Tina, you remember Matt, right? Well Matt fucking hates your casserole. Okay bye, see you next year!'" They joyfully acted out their prediction of the next holiday.

 

"Oh my gosh," Matt ducked his head, embarrassed yet delighted. "I'm am not going around and being mean to your relatives for you!"

 

"Why not?" Foggy questioned. "You'd be amazing at it. _Are_ amazing at it. I would pay you literal cash to do it, except instead of cash it'd be more like my eternal thanks and my undying love."

 

"Foggy," Matt huffed, feeling buoyant.

 

"No, no, Matt, now that I've seen your magical prowess, I know now your capabilities."

 

" _Magical prowess,_ Foggy?"

 

"Entirely magical," Foggy assured him.

 

Matt smiled indulgently, unable to help shaking his head. "If you say so."

 

Foggy laughed, bright and loud. "When we get home," they said, and the word _home_ yanked at Matt's heart and left him feeling funny and restless, "we should watch the Lego Batman movie."

 

"Yeah," he agreed readily. "We should."

 

"It's kind of fast paced to describe at some parts, but we can pause." Foggy nodded, stepping on the concrete at an even pace.

 

"It sounds great, Foggy."

 

"Not like a party, though, right?" Foggy teased.

 

Matt shook his head. "Not at all."

 

"Oh, here's out turn." Foggy's smile was evident in his voice. "The bench is super close, and I'll call the Uber that will _definitely_ have candy, and we'll be home in no time!"

 

"If I said 'home is wherever I'm with you', would believe it?" Matt mused.

 

Foggy froze for half a step but quickly recovered. "Matt, buddy, you're the best home I've ever had."

 

Matt grinned. "Does that mean you're going to move in with me at the end of the semester?"

 

Foggy choked on that bombshell.

 

_"Holy shit, you were serious! Matt!"_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [godlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/godlet).


End file.
